The Homewreckers(78)

“Hey, hey. You all right?” He opened the door and shook the driver’s shoulder. The man looked up, dazed.

“Yeah, man. I’m okay. I think I hit my head when the trailer hit the dumpster.”

He climbed out of the cab, leaning heavily against the door. “Something going on with the gas pedal. It like, stuck.” A huge lump was already rising on his forehead, but he walked unsteadily around to the rear of his rig.

“Shiiiiiit,” he muttered, clamping his hands on either side of his head as he surveyed the damage. “I’m fucked now.”

The impact of the crash had caused the trailer to crumple in the middle. The dumpster had hit the oak tree at an angle, tipping the container on its side, spilling the contents onto the ground. Amidst it all stood the jagged stump of the decapitated oak tree. Oak leaves fluttered down onto the debris.

Hattie fetched a bottle of water from a nearby cooler and took it to the driver, who was dangerously pale and swaying on his feet. She uncapped it and handed it to him. “Here. Come on, you need to sit down.”

He made a feeble attempt to resist, but finally allowed himself to be led to the shade of the nearest tent, where Mo’s assistant, Gage, was waiting with a first aid kit.

Hattie and Cass went to meet Mo, who stood staring down at the remains of the trailer and dumpster.

“Oh my God,” Hattie said. “I didn’t think things could get any worse, but they just did. What do we do about this mess?”

Cass pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her contacts. “First we call the container company and tell them to hold off on that other dumpster. Then, I’m thinking we’re gonna need a backhoe and a tree company.” She gazed out at the fallen tree. “The good news is, you’ve now got an amazing view of the river from the back of the house. And with any luck, the insurance company will pay for that oak’s removal.”

“I’m gonna go check on that semi driver,” Hattie said. “I’m worried he might have a concussion.”

“What a clusterfuck,” Mo said. “Yeah, let’s make sure the driver doesn’t die on our watch. We don’t need one more thing today.”





41

Trouble in the Air




Tug Kavanaugh was not normally an excitable man, but this was an exceptional day.

“Jesus, Mary, and Fred,” he exclaimed, taking off his baseball cap and slapping it against his knee. “Forty years I’ve been in this business, and in all that time I’ve never seen anything like this catastrophe. A fire, water damage, downed tree. What next? Lightning? Locusts?”

“You really don’t like this house at all, do you?” Hattie asked. “But why not? The location is amazing. You’d never find a lot this big on the Back River, not even for ten times what we paid. And the house is solid. We can do this, Dad. You gotta believe in me.”

“I do, but sometimes things are beyond our reach,” he said sadly.

“My mom always said, ‘The harder the delivery, the healthier the baby,’” Hattie said.

She could tell he was surprised by the reference to her mother.

“How is your mom? Have you heard from her lately?”

“I guess she’s okay. She texts me once in a while. With her, no news is good news, right?”

“You think she’ll ever marry the boyfriend?”

Hattie shook her head. “That’s not something we ever talk about. But you still haven’t told me why you’re so opposed to this project.”

He kicked at the tree trunk. “I never cared for those Creedmores. Big Holland was in my class at Cardinal Mooney. He was a bully and a blowhard. Still is, for that matter. Thought his family’s money could buy him anything.”

“So it’s sweet revenge that they couldn’t manage to hold on to a house they’d owned for generations,” Hattie said. “You know what I’m gonna do?”

“Light a match and finish the job?” he said hopefully.

“I’m gonna go to that hippie-dippie herb shop in Midtown and buy a big old bundle of sage, and then we’re going to have a cleansing ceremony to chase away the bad juju.”

That got a laugh out of the old man. “Forever the optimist. That’s my girl.”

Hattie wasn’t convinced she’d erased his doubts. “Come on. Spill it. What else is bothering you?”

“I don’t like that fancy California designer,” he said, his chin jutting out mulishly.

Hattie was mortified. “You saw those pictures on the internet, huh?”

“Pfft. I don’t look at that crap. But Nancy saw them.”

“Dad…”

“I don’t think this guy is right for you, Hattie.”

“You also didn’t think Jimmy Cates was right when I dated him,” she reminded him.

“At least Jimmy Cates can put a tight roof on a house,” he retorted. “This Trae guy, what’s he got going for him? As far as I can tell, he’s just a snappy dresser and a fake smile.”

“It was only a kiss,” Hattie said, squeezing his shoulder. “Come on, let’s walk down to the water. I want you to take a look at the dock.”

It was low tide, and the beach sloping down from the seawall was fully exposed. It was a clear day and they watched as a group of kayakers paddled out toward Little Tybee Island.